


It Wasn't The Same

by HarryPotterIsBi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, F/M, Feminine Harry Potter, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Bashing, Harry Potter Being an Asshole, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Out of Character Harry Potter, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarryPotterIsBi/pseuds/HarryPotterIsBi
Summary: It wasn't the same without Ron.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	It Wasn't The Same

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Implied/Referenced Anorexia (not Hermione though)  
> References to Self-Harm and Depression (Actually is Hermione)  
> Major Character Death (Ron)
> 
> For anyone who's kind of confused about what's happening, basically Ron's dead and this is the aftermath of it. Harry's always been jealous of Ron, and feels the need to almost "take his place". Idk how to explain it. He's still an asshole here though. And this is Hermione's thought process about the whole situation. Not sure if that made too much sense, but I tried my best <3

The first time she asks, it’s exactly four days after Ron had been found dead on his bedroom floor. Hermione knows because it’s her first day back to Hogwarts. She had been sitting on her mattress in a disturbed trance, similar to her dead boyfr - _best friend_. For those three days after his funeral. Until her Dad had called in from whatever work trip he was on that week, snapping at her for the absences. She isn’t even sure if her dad knows that Ron is dead. He probably didn’t care anyways, so she doesn’t say anything. Hermione only murmurs in agreement, slinging her faded bookbag over her shoulder.

Yes, it’s that day that Harry asks her if she wants to play chess again.

* * *

_“Are you alright?” It’s laced with faux care. “Here.”_

_They’re sitting in the Gryffindor common room, when Harry shoves the white chess pieces into Hermione’s pale hands. She moves almost robotically, setting up the board as the fireplace crackles nearby._

* * *

Hermione had wanted to ask if Harry was _okay_. Both of them had been best friends with Ron, after all. But she doesn’t. Because she already knows the answer. Harry has barely stuttered. She saw it in his gaze as they passed _his_ seat in the Charms classroom. Or in Transfiguration. Hermione gets sick when she walks by them. Harry has no problem, no hesitation when he takes his place at Ron’s old seat. 

* * *

_“It’s not the same.”_

_“Sorry?” The brunet looks up, green eyes reflecting his confusion. There’s a_ click _as he moves his knight across the chessboard._

_“Chess.” She pursed her lips, bushy hair falling into her eyes. “It’s not the same without him.” She swallowed the bitterness in her throat. “Without Ron.”_

_Harry frowned. “Play the game, ‘Mione.”_

* * *

Ginny is there the next time. She was laughing with Luna Lovegood, when the two remaining members of the Golden Trio walk down the stairs. Well, Harry walks. Gracefully. In control. Hermione staggers after him, confidence from previous weeks a mere memory by now. It’s been a month and four days since Ron has died. The world around Hermione has shifted, dulled. No one’s commented. Their lives have continued, after all. No one sees the bookworm’s long sleeves, or leggings. She notices that Harry’s eating again. He never used to, preferring to stay paper-thin, and keep his bones almost birdlike. _How was it possible?_

This event. This _tragedy_. Was making Harry stronger? That was certainly one word for it.

* * *

_Ginny’s there, sitting by Harry’s side as he concentrates on the chessboard. Luna is wearing all blue, and Hermione has to tilt her head. Because, well, the colour fits her. When Luna scurries off, nearly tripping over her shoelaces, she nearly dropped her pawn. Harry steadies her wrist, flashing a charming smile at Ginny. She only giggles, flipping her hair over her shoulder in response. Hermione had seen that smile before. It was fake. Laced with a plan and purpose. You give that smile with a goal on how you want the other person to think of you. Harry wore that smile on a daily basis. Well, ever since Ron’s death. Though that shouldn’t have been surprising at this point._

_This time, Harry’s manicured hand slipped past the white pieces, and landed on the black. Hermione’s head is buzzing. Oh. Well, look at that. That colour....was always the one Ron chose. It takes a lot for her to bite her tongue. It wasn’t just a fake smile. It was Ron’s smile. Ron’s colour. Ron’s chess pieces. For the first time in weeks, she feels something. Anger? Yes. Because Harry Potter is not Ronald Weasley. Hermione didn’t love Harry the way she loved Ron._

_Ginny said something about it. The chess pieces, that is._

_“She’s right.” The redheaded girl swayed to the side, misery clouding her expression. “It’s not the same without Ron.” Hermione nearly collapsed in her seat, hand tightly clutched on her rook. It was white. With chipped paint, and a faded wear from the countless games of chess they had played together. There’s a crack near the top. She nearly snorted at the sight. Was that supposed to be symbolic or something?_

_“Oh, shut up, Hermione,” Harry barked, impatient. Hermione ran out of the common room before the match ended. No one went after her._

* * *

They’re standing near Ron’s desk, now. Harry is wearing red, hair nearly reaching his shoulders. Hermione hasn’t commented that Harry has begun to purchase the same brands of clothing as the dead owner of the table. The same shoes, the same outfit. _Everything._

“What are you doing?”

The bushy-haired girl sputters in indignation as Harry’s hand shoots forward to grab the textbook on the hard wood of the desk surface. Hermione’s hand follows, nearly grabbing Harry’s wrist. She cowered as the brunet glared at her taller figure. Hermione reeled back. 

“What does it look like?” The boy hisses, grabbing hold of the textbook, and taking his seat at the desk. There’s a lump in Hermione’s throat. Brown eyes trail up and follow Harry’s hands, as they carefully open the textbook in front of him. It’s this feeling in her gut. _Guilt? Sadness? Horror?_ Either way, she feels like sobbing.

She doesn’t need to understand her emotions, just her feelings. And standing there, with Harry sitting in her dead boyfriend’s desk, it clicks. It wasn’t just chess that was different without him. _Everything was._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos would be much appreciated!


End file.
